


Day 29- Meathooks

by Broken_Clover



Series: Goretober 2018 [29]
Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 17:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Potemkin finds himself taken captive by a rival political faction.





	Day 29- Meathooks

_Pain_

_Pain_

_PAIN_

Though he was far stronger than the average man, pain was a sensation that Potemkin was far too familiar with. The feeling of a cattle prod burning into his spine. Massive shackles, still somehow not big enough, biting into his wrists and pinning them behind his back. The life of a slave was a miserable one, but one that he’d thought war far behind him.

A soldier’s life could be no more comfortable at times. Pain and combat worked hand-in-hand. As of the moment, though, the pain that was currently blazing across his body reeked of captivity, of bondage.

“Hmph. Is this really the finest Zepp has to offer? Disappointing.”

Potemkin easily recognized that snivelly voice, matched perfectly by a bone-thin body that the goliath could snap in two with the utmost ease. One of the many failed militia leaders attempting to topple the country’s government, though this one was far more irritating and petulant than the average insurgent. The man could easily make up for his lack of physical prowess with financial influence, buying the loyalties of several small mercenary groups.

The soldier glared at the far-smaller man in front of him, taking note of how his helmet had been removed, but not his suit. It seemed his captor wasn’t a complete idiot. If he had been stripped of his suit, Potemkin was sure that he could tear through his bindings far easier.

“Well?” The sallow-faced bastard wore a pompous smile. “Have anything to say for yourself, dog?”

Potemkin said nothing, merely tugging gently on the metal. He’d seen many atrocities, but it was still a gruesome sight.

A half-dozen meathooks had been buried into the flesh of his body. A few pierced through the meat of his arms, with the ends of the hook painted red as they burst back out through his skin. He could feel a few more buried into his back, tips resting snugly against his spine and muscles. The wounds had already created large puddles of blood on the floor around him, and continued to flow. The plain olive of his restraint suit was hard to make out over the stains that drenched him.

“I’ll admit, you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would have.” The man began pacing in front of him. “I was hoping you wouldn’t die, but perhaps a bit of crying would have been appreciated. There’s eight hooks going through you right now, how much more does is take to make you sob?”

Potemkin kept his calm expression. Of course it was agony, but pain wasn’t something he showed. If his torturer hadn’t done such a good job, making sure to hook around the bones in his arms, he would have already torn himself free and finished the job.

“So, Potemkin. How this goes is up to you. You can follow my orders, and submit, or I can call in more of my ‘technicians’ and have them… _convince_ you.”

Potemkin said nothing. He was too busy trying to decipher a way out of his situation. As thorough as his prison seemed, there was likely to be a way out. Or, if need be, he had no trouble waiting for an ideal moment when the man slipped up and make a mistake.

He knew that his lack of reaction was getting on his captor’s nerves. It was the closest thing he was going to get to amusement on this mission.

“Don’t _ignore_ me, Potemkin-!”

The man’s words were ignored again. Potemkin let his eyes trace up the objects holding him in place. Strong hooks, decent chains…and a simple industrial chain base? No special ceiling reinforcements or anything?

Well, that simplified things entirely, didn’t it?

“Potemkin! I don’t appreciate-”

The room became alive with noise. In one smooth motion, Potemkin came to life. With the hooks still embedded in his arms and the chain unbreaking under the force, he ripped the metal right out of the ceiling, sending the ends clanging to the floor loudly as plaster rained around him like snow.

His captor realized the folly of bringing no other guards with him. Only a half-second later, a pair of massive, muscular arms wrapped around his vulnerable head.


End file.
